


Replenish Me, Baby!

by froggy (therealfroggy), Niektete (therealfroggy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/froggy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/Niektete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter/House M.D. cross-over. Hermione accidentally overdoses on Blood Replenishing Potion, and is brought to Princeton-Plainsborough hospital - where House happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Replenish Me, Baby!

Hermione was about to start bouncing. Or, she would have, if her stomach hadn't been cramping so badly. As it were, she went into the hotel bathroom, cursing women's hormonal cycles and reaching for her mild pain relief potion.

“Hermione! We're leaving!” her mother called.

“I'm coming!” Hermione replied, hands fumbling around on the highest shelf for the potion. Where had she put that vial... Jackpot.

Downing the contents of the little vial, Hermione grimaced at the sour taste ( _It must have gone off a little; the taste shouldn't be quite that bad_ ) and then replaced the now empty vial. She followed her parents out of the hotel suite, smiling widely at the prospect of finally getting to visit an American library.

“Have Harry and Ron started moving in yet?” Mister Granger asked, looking with interest at the buildings they passed. He wasn't too keen on the American way of life, but he liked the architecture of New Jersey.

Hermione could see the library a few blocks off through the gently drifting snow, and wasn't too keen on talking about her moving plans with Harry and Ron, even if she was very excited about the prospect of living with her best friends.

“Yes, they said they'd be getting started. I told them not to touch my room.” This, with a grin. The boys meant well, but she was not going to live in a pink or orange room, just because they thought she might like it.

“Our little girl is flying the nest,” her mother said with a laugh. “Well, you're not too old to go on a family vacation with your old folks.”

They'd reached the library entrance, so Hermione forwent answering. She was a kid in a candy store, and she knew it.

***

“House!”

“Cuddy.”

“Wilson, talk to him.”

“House...”

“Jimmy.”

Cuddy placed an angry hand on House's forearm. “Gregory House, you will come down to the Christmas party if I have to drag you myself. I'll call security and have them _carry_ you down. For heaven's sake, there's free whiskey and time to relax!”

“And a team full of ducklings to pester me on my time instead of the hospital's,” House said, looking with longing at his iPod and headphones on his desk. “Jimmy'll bring me back some whiskey, won't he?”

Cuddy sighed. “House, I refuse to let you isolate yourself. You're coming downstairs, right now. Or would you like to do clinic hours? You could swap with one of the on-call nurses. I'm sure nurse Brenda would like to accompany doctor Wilson to the party, if you won't.”

Wilson held up his hands defensively. “Don't drag me into this! I didn't say anything about nurse Brenda!”

House glared at Wilson. “You whimp. Fine, fine, don't get your panties in a twist. I'm coming downstairs to the party. But if Cameron so much as looks at me, I'm coming straight back up here and I'm solving crosswords for the rest of the night!”

Cuddy threw her arms up in exasperation, then left House's office. With much grumbling, he followed her, thump-thumping along after her. Wilson walked by his side, the ever faithful sidekick.

House was bored, of course. He always acted like a spoiled four year-old when he was bored. He hadn't had a case for almost three weeks; people seemed not to get mysteriously ill in the last two weeks of December. Just broken bones, scrapes and bruises.

Cuddy was afraid he was going to completely withdraw from human contact while he languished under too much time on his hands. And he seemed hell-bent on confirming her worries. So of course, she insisted he socialized, and he insisted everyone left him alone.

Not today, however.

“House! Hey, Foreman, you lose! Hand over the ten bucks!”

“Not fair; Cuddy and Wilson made him! I'm not paying.”

House grumbled. So now they were making bets on whether he would show up? Maybe Cuddy was right – he was turning into Scrooge. He didn't really care, he mused, as he demanded a whiskey on the rocks from the startled bartender.

***

“Help! Somebody help us, please! Hermione? Hermione, love, wake up! Help!”

“The ambulance is on it's way, ma'am. Calm down, please.”

“But she's bleeding! There's... You have to do something!”

“Princeton-Plainsboro, we need an OR ready. Female, eighteen, coming in with severe bleeding...”

“Jake. Hey, Jake! Tell them to get blood ready; buckets full. What blood type is she, ma'am?”

“AB positive!”

“AB positive, okay. Here's the stretcher, now. Easy... Jesus, she must be bled dry soon!”

“Hermione!”

***

“Details?” Wilson said, rushing to the stretcher. The brown-haired girl looked pale, but was trying to sit up – despite the blood running in little streams down her face, from her eyes, nose and mouth. When she turned her head to the side, Wilson could see it running from her ears, as well.

“Has she been given -”

“We gave her blood, and we tried to stop the bleeding,” the paramedic said. Jake, declared his name tag. “There doesn't seem to be a reason for it. She's lost... I don't know, looks like a gallon or more!”

“No, wait -” the girl began, somewhat muffled by the blood in her mouth. Wilson noticed she had a British accent. She spat and tried again. “Don't worry, it's fine, I just need to -”

Wilson's eyes bogged as he jogged alongside the stretcher, still in his suit and tie from the party. “Fine?”

Just at that moment, the OR doors swung open, and then House came thumping around the corner of the hallway.

“What's this, Jimmy?” he said cheerfully, looking with interest at the girl. “Trying to sneak her past me, eh?”

“She's bleeding, House!” Wilson yelled. “No riddle this time. Move; we have to operate!” He began getting into the operating gear. The surgeon was already on his way.

“No!” the girl cried. “No, really, I'm fine! Call my parents, let them know I'm fine, I just need the little bag from my suitcase -”

House stopped the stretcher with his cane. “What's your name?”

“Hermione Granger,” she said fervently. “And it's fine! I don't need surgery! Just find my parents, have them bring me the bag, and I'll -”

House noticed blood soaking the mattress beneath her, staining her jeans and dripping onto the floor beneath.

“You're bleeding from every orifice!” he exclaimed gleefully. “How much has she lost?”

“Going on a bucket or two, I'd say,” Jake said, looking annoyed. “Doctor, you should really move out of the way.”

“Have any of you idiots noticed she's not only sitting and speaking, but she's lost more blood than the human body can possibly contain? Wilson, come on! You've got to let me have this!”

Wilson was about to hit House square in the jaw, when he noticed that the older man was, indeed, right. The girl was regaining some colour, her eyes were open and alert, she was spitting to empty her mouth of blood... In fact, she looked fit as a fiddle, save the fact that blood was gushing from her like the entire stock of Hollywood splatter effects had been poured into her.

“Doesn't it freak you out that you're literally painting the town red?” House said, looking intrigued. He felt her forehead, then found her pulse and counted.

The girl looked around, then looked pensively at him. Finally, she leaned in to say softly, “I know what's happening. You just need to let me take care of this myself. Please.”

House stared openly at her. He looked at the little monitor on the stretcher. Heart rate normal, temperature normal, normal reaction and functioning senses... And lots and lots of blood, making quite a nasty smelling pool underneath them.

“Put her in a tub,” House declared. “Otherwise we'll just get stains everywhere; Cuddy'd never let me live it down.”

The girl's eyes lit up. “Do you think the blood'll still be fit for donation? I'm a blood donor back home, and I -”

“Yeah, yeah, less talking, more bleeding,” House snarked, but he cocked his head to the side and turned to Wilson. “What do you think, Jimmy? Can we use all that lovely, fresh blood to make some sick children all better?”

Wilson looked distinctly nauseous. “House. She's. bleeding! Heavily! It's a miracle she hasn't died yet! We need to operate!”

“Fine; find somewhere to sew back up,” House said with a shrug. “Carve her to pieces if you want to; I don't care. But check her vitals first.”

Wilson did. And then he checked them again.

“She's... perfectly healthy,” he said, eyebrows climbing skywards. Then he felt her pulse again. And yanked his stethoscope down, quickly moving it under her top to listen to her heart. Her temperature... He even had her open her mouth, trying to have a look at her throat, but the blood made it kind of difficult to see.

“I'm telling you, I'm fine,” the girl insisted. “I know what happened; I took the wrong... drug; I thought it was my pain relief... medicine. Just let me get the counteractive drug from my bag, and I'll be _fine_.”

House's eyes narrowed. “Drugs?” He didn't know any drugs who had excessive bleeding for a side effect!

The girl rolled her eyes. “Not narcotics. An... experimental preparation; I got it from my apothecary.”

House rolled his own eyes in imitation. “Fine, call it whatever you like. But if you're on drugs, we can't use this blood for anything. Just put her somewhere it won't be as messy, will you?”

The paramedic was about to protest, but Wilson shook his head, urging him to do as House said. Everything seemed to be fine about her, if you overlooked the fact that they had to step away from the bed to avoid the growing pool of blood.

They wheeled the still protesting girl away, while House thumped off to his office, paging the ducklings.

***

“Cameron, go talk to the parents,” House said, sucking pensively on a bright red lollipop. “No, wait, Chase! You go talk to the parents; after all, you speak the same language.”

Chase snorted. “What, are they aborigines?”

“English,” House said, spinning slowly on the office chair. “Cameron, you go talk to the girl. See if you can find out what she took; have a little girlie chat. Foreman... just stand in the hallway, looking menacing.”

Then he got up, retreating into his office to aid the grey matter with a little Antoine Dufour.

***

“Please, let me see my parents,” Hermione asked patiently. She was, amusingly enough, sitting in a sort of tub, as the rude older doctor had suggested. It seemed to be one of those rooms used for heating or cooling treatments; Hermione imagined the tub filled with ice cubes and icy water.

The nurses were bagging her blood, probably for testing, and Hermione wished she could make them keep it for medical purposes. The blood was perfectly healthy, and she knew there was always a shortage. But they were probably disposing of it all.

The young woman who was checking her vitals and staring in horror at all the blood, was apparently called Allison Cameron, and she was trying to make Hermione confess to having taken some home-made narcotic or other.

“Are you sure you didn't take anything?” Cameron said worriedly, once more checking Hermione's temperature. They'd gotten her out of her blood-soaked clothing and into a hospital gown, though it was more red than green by now.

“We can't help you if you don't tell us, Hermaynee.”

“It's _Hermione_ ,” Hermione said with a sigh of annoyance. Cameron was nice, but Hermione had a feeling the rude doctor would see reason sooner than the pretty woman who seemed to think World Peace and End of Hunger really existed.

“Can't I talk to the doctor who met me first?”

Cameron sighed. “He doesn't really... do patient-doctor conversations.”

“Well, can I see my parents, then?” Hermione asked, trying her best to be patient. She was sitting in a tub, bleeding like a splatter film, and all she could do was wait and spit to keep her mouth and airway clear.

“I don't think they should see you like this,” Cameron said worriedly. “It looks...”

“Yes, yes, I'm sitting in a pool of blood and the doctors speak a scary dialect,” Hermione said drily. “They've seen worse, and I can explain to them what this is. Please let them in?”

Cameron nodded. “Okay, Hermione. But let me know as soon as you feel... worse, okay?”

Hermione smiled through two streams of blood from her nostrils, blinking as the blood clung to her eyelashes. “Certainly. Could I perhaps have something to wipe my face?”

***

“Hermione! Oh, darling, what's happening to you?”

Her mother looked seriously torn between hugging her and avoiding the blood. Hermione grinned, then wiped the wet cloth over her face again, removing the clotted blood around her eyes.

“Don't worry, mum, it's just my potion. I was going to take a pain relief potion, you know... my cramps... and I must have taken the Blood-replenishing Potion instead; it's the concentrated stuff I bring with me for travels, just in case. You're supposed to mix two drops in a glass of water, and if it's bad, then you have to take one every other hour. But I took the entire bottle, and...”

She trailed off, seeing the horrified expressions on her parents' faces. “What?” Spit. All that blood, really!

“A potion did this to you?” her father said, his voice tight. “Love, perhaps we should call someone... a wizard or a witch?” he whispered, looking furtively around.

“No, really, I can make an antidote myself,” Hermione insisted. Hack, spit again. “I just need... oh, no! I'm all out of daisy roots!”

Her parents still looked shocked to the core, so Hermione tried smiling at them. Her mother burst out in tears as a particularly strong spurt of blood jetted down Hermione's front.

“Mum!” Hermione said sternly. “I can take care of this! Really.” Spit, hack. “But I need some ingredients and a place to boil them. Floo Harry and Ron, please. They can Floo here, bringing the ingredients, or maybe send them with Hedwig...”

Or better yet... She knew a Potions Master, didn't she? Who happened to work at Hogwarts, where Harry had recently been engaged as a Defence teacher.

“Mum, dad.” Spit, cough, spit again. “Please Floo Harry and Ron. Tell them I took an overdose of Blood-replenishing Potion, and that they -” Hack. She was really getting used to the taste, now. “- need to ask Snape for an antidote.”

***

“She's been bleeding in our hospital for _four hours_ now, House, and we've been scratching our heads in confusion equally long. What are we going to do? She refuses blood transfusions, and still she hasn't died – despite that the nurses have disposed of _two gallons_ of blood. She should be dead!” Wilson ranted, hands on his hips, turning around himself in confusion.

House was tossing his ball from hand to hand, thinking hard. The older man hadn't been able to come up with a single theory in four hours, and he looked almost angry over the fact.

“House,” Chase said, coming barging through the door. “The parents are gone. I can't find them. And she wants to talk to you.”

House growled agitatedly as he rose from his chair. “Fine, fine! I'll go make fun of her accent until her parents come back. Find them, Chase; bring Foreman to the hotel room. Oh, and while you're there, search the place. Anything funny, bring it back here.”

He found the girl sitting quite calmly in her own blood, spitting and wiping her face but otherwise the very picture of patience and... well, not sickness.

“What?” House said, banging his cane against the floor. “Are you gonna tell me what you took?”

Hermione glared at him. “You're awfully rude, doctor.”

“And you've got a posh accent,” House sniped. He took out his Vicodin bottle; the walk from his office to her room wasn't doing him any good.

“Well, suit yourself,” she said primly, sounding miffed. “I was just telling you I know what's wrong, so I'll probably be going home soon enough. I just wanted to ask why you're not keeping my blood? AB positive is a very rare blood type; less than four percent of the -”

“You're bleeding profusely from every weak point in your body!” House snapped. “And there's no good explanation for it. For all I know, the blood could be laced with everything from home cooked speed to Ceylon blend tea. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You've tested it,” Hermione said, now getting rather angry with the abrasive man. “You know it's clear! And you've been trying to pump me full of new blood for so long, I should think you've used your entire stock! I'm bleeding anyway, and in large quanta, so you might as well do something useful while waiting!”

“Waiting for you to die?” House said with mock concern, making Wilson wince in embarrassment.

“What doctor House is _trying_ to say,” the younger man interrupted, “is that we really don't know what's wrong with you, and if there's anything you've taken... anything at all...”

At that moment, Hermione's parents anxiously sneaked back into the room.

House glared at them. “This is a hospital, not a lobby.” Then he angrily thumped back out.

Wilson gave an apologetic shrug. “He's just... uh, worried. He's a little difficult when he's working on cases.”

Hermione sniffed delicately, or tried to. It turned out a snort that sprayed everything in the vicinity with blood, and she had to cough and spit again. “Well, fine. But I'll have you know, doctor Wilson, that I've called in a specialist. I expect you to let my visitors in when they come.”

Wilson's eyebrows rose. “House is a specialist.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “But he doesn't bloody know everything, does he?”

Wilson frowned. He'd considered that at times, too, but it was too unnerving to dwell on.

***

“She's done _what_?”

“She said she called in a specialist,” Wilson said, shrugging. He looked decidedly confused.

Chase and Foreman had come back from the hotel room, too. Clothes, toiletries, walls, bedding... It was all clean. The only suspicious thing they'd found, was a little bag containing what appeared to be herbs and powders of various kinds, and a small bottle labelled “Pain Relief.”

They'd tested it all. It turned out to be all natural ingredients, with no toxins in it.

Cameron was worrying herself into a fit.

“How long is she going to survive like this?” Cameron fretted, making herself a cup of herbal tea. “We have to tell the parents!”

“They insist they're not worried,” Chase said, chewing on the end of his pencil. “They were smiling and handing me the key when I asked to search the room.”

House rounded on him, incredulous. “You _asked_ them to search the room? What have I been teaching you these three years? And here I was, thinking I'd managed to beat the Sunday school out of you!”

Chase looked offended, but Foreman spoke up. “Why haven't we performed exploratory surgery? There's got to be... a leak somewhere!”

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. “We tried. Cuddy put her foot down. Apparently, the patient _and_ her parents – separately have refused treatment. We can't release her, because she could as well fall down and die as soon as she's outside the hospital, but we can't test her for anything else and we can't operate.”

House snarled, throwing back a mug of coffee in two long gulps. “Stiff upper lip, huh? God damn ignorant -”

It was morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The girl had been there for sixteen hours, and the bleeding persisted. The parents waited in the cafeteria, sampling the hospital's finest cuisine (which, in House's opinion, wasn't worth the mush it was made from). And the girl, being eighteen, could refuse treatment and insist on her “specialist” as much as she wanted.

Even Cuddy had tried talking to her. The girl had seemed to like the Dean of Medicine, gazing at her admiringly when she was introduced, but still insisted she was about to get better and was feeling fine.

Meanwhile, House had viewed all her blood tests and redone several of them – they had enough blood for it, that was sure. All clear. Not a trace of toxins, drugs, pesticides, alcohol, bacterial infection, viral infection... nothing.

“I want a spinal tap,” House declared, getting to his feet. He was tired, grumpy, hopped up on Vicodin and he had the nasty feeling that there was something he wasn't seeing.

“You can't puncture her skin; she's already got the nurses running just to keep her eyes open and her airways clear!” Cameron protested.

But House was already thumping along the hall, determined to get his spinal tap.

Outside the girl's room, he halted. She was talking to someone, their backs to the door, and she was spitting and coughing as her mouth moved rapidly, her hands gesticulating. House frowned. These must be her visitors.

He threw the door open. “I'm going to perform a spinal tap on you. Roll over.”

The two visitors turned to stare open-mouthed at him. One of them, a tall, gangly boy with vividly red hair and freckles, looked surprised, but confused. The other, black-haired and green-eyed, looked more offended.

“No,” the girl said, then spat discreetly into the tub next to her. Blood continued to flow steadily down her cheeks like tears, and though her hair was tied back to avoid the blood from her ears, it had red, sticky spots. She looked horrible, but calm.

“No spinal tap. I don't need another hole to bleed from. I'm waiting for... my healer. I expect him to be admitted to my room when he gets here.”

House's eyes narrowed. “A healer? You're bringing in a _healer_ \- that's your specialist? I thought Brits didn't even do New Age!”

“Hey, lay off her, you hear!” the redhead said, looking angrily at House. “She can call a professional if she wants to!”

House sneered. “What am I; the postman?”

The other boy put a placating hand on the redhead's shoulder. “He's a doctor, Ron, he knows what he's doing. Thanks for your concern and all, doctor, but we've got it covered. The... healer should be here soon.”

As if on cue, the door opened behind House, emitting the ducklings, Wilson, Cuddy, Hermione's parents, and a tall, dark man with a gigantic hooked nose, dressed in a black suit making him look like a funeral agent.

***

“Professor!” Ron squawked when he saw Snape enter the room. “She's -”

“I can see, Weasley, that Miss Granger requires assistance,” Snape said softly, eyes emotionless as he took in the positive bloodbath that was Hermione in her hospital gown. “If this babbling herd of idiots would leave, I shall provide her with the aid she needs.”

House turned to face the newcomers. “You're the healer?” His eyebrows spoke volumes.

Snape turned to face him. “I take it you are in charge of this band?” he said, sneering as Cameron drew herself up to be affronted and Cuddy bristled.

“Actually, I'm just the postman,” House said sarcastically. “You want the cleavage over there.” He nodded to Cuddy.

Cuddy's eyes flashed angrily. “House,” she said, “shut up. Who is everyone, and why are they here?”

Hermione spat a largish blob of blood into the tub. “Harry, Ron, friends,” she said. “My parents, obviously. And... Professor Snape. He's going to heal me.”

“Cameron, the pretty girl, Chase, the pretty boy, and Foreman, the criminal,” House snapped, pointing to his team. “Oh, and Wilson, the oncologist with fluffy hair. We don't know why he's here; doesn't he have a home to go to?”

Cuddy pointed at the door. “Everyone who does not have a degree in medicine _and_ a department head sign on their door, leave. Now.”

Hermione nodded to the boys, who joined the Grangers and left quietly. The ducklings looked dubious, but left. Snape remained where he was.

“I think you were supposed to go with the others,” House said innocently, smiling sweetly at Snape. “I can't recall us ever hiring any anaemic Brits for department heads.”

Snape smirked. “Clearly, or the invalid Yankees would have no employment.”

“Enough!” Cuddy snapped, then looked at Wilson. “You can leave, too.”

Wilson happily escaped. If a British House was battling words with the American one, he didn't want to be within the field of war.

“Now, will someone explain to me why this... healer... is here?” Cuddy said. “And why is she still bleeding?”

“She is bleeding because your limited knowledge is not sufficient to recognize the problem,” Snape said smoothly. “If you will give me five minutes alone with Miss Granger, I shall rectify the situation.”

House snorted. “Yeah, you'll just lay your warm hands on her forehead, and her oneness with the universe will be restored! That'll clot her up real good!”

Hermione gave a particularly violent cough, deliberately spraying the nearest doctor – House – with a fine mist of blood. “I'm eighteen. I have the right to choose my treatment. I've been telling you to let me take care of this since I was brought here.”

“And you're bleeding out in our hospital,” Cuddy said calmly. “You need proper treatment!”

Hermione looked angrily at the doctors. Snape smirked again.

“I demand you give me five minutes alone with the healer of my choice!” Hermione said impetuously. “And if I haven't stopped bleeding in...” She looked to Snape. He raised his eyebrow a fraction of an inch, and Hermione's eyes widened.

“Two hours. Give me two hours; if I've survived bleeding like this for the past day, I can do two more hours. If I haven't stopped bleeding in two hours from now, you can operate and cut me to pieces if you so want,” she declared.

Cuddy shrugged. “House. Do you have any other options?”

House rolled his eyes. “Yes! I want that spinal tap. There's something seriously wrong with her, and I want to find out what so I can fix her!”

Snape's lip curled in a derisive sneer. “Subjecting her to intense pain and removing her spinal fluid just to appease your own curiosity? Tut, tut. Such egotistical arrogance. Please leave the room. I require only five minutes, then two hours for rest.”

House was about to say something equally scathing in return, when Cuddy stopped him. “The patient wants this treatment, House. It's her right.”

“The patient is a stupid girl!” House insisted. “She doesn't think beyond what colour nail polish to wear tomorrow!”

Hermione gave an outraged cry. Snape chuckled darkly.

“Correct in your estimation of her wit though you may be, doctor House, it is her wish – and her constitutional right, I believe – to receive my treatment first. Silly girl or not.”

Cuddy was about to protest, but House and Snape were standing eye to eye, measuring up.

“What university did you go to?” House demanded, his blue eyes trying to bore into Snape's black ones.

“I was not trained in traditional medicine,” Snape said, arching an eyebrow. “I studied under the tutorage of Horace Slughorn, Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle. Among others. I do not expect you to understand the subtle beauty of my craft, but you may see the effects for yourself. Now leave.”

“I went to -” House began, but was interrupted by Hermione's shrill cry.

“I'm bleeding!” she screamed, tears now mingling with the blood running from her eyes. “I'm soaked in blood, wasting away my vacation, and all you can do is argue over who can insult me the better? Yes, I'm a silly girl, but this silly girl demands her constitutional rights in this uncultured hell-hole be respected! Get out of my room, you horrid, selfish, vain bastard!”

The latter was directed at House. His eyebrows raised. His patients often insulted him, but they didn't all get it as right as she did.

Shrugging, he turned to leave. “Two hours, then I'm coming in here with a big-ass needle and a team of surgeons.”

Cuddy opened her mouth to speak, but Hermione was already glaring at Snape. The Dean of Medicine, shaking her head over what humbug some people would believe in, closed the blinds and left the room.

“And you!” she screeched. “Why are you even here? You should have just sent the boys with the potion, and I could have taken it when the doctors weren't here. Just give me the dratted thing and leave!”

Snape glared at her. “Manners, Miss Granger. I travelled to another continent to ensure you recovered fully.”

“And for all I care, you can drown yourself on the way back!” Hermione cried, coughing and spluttering as blood filled her mouth once more. “Why do you always insult me? I asked your help with a serious problem, and you come here to gloat!”

Snape looked disdainfully at her, then handed her a small, stoppered vial from his inner pocket. “As you wish. It may interest you to know that when Mister Potter informed me of your situation, I had an important meeting with the school board planned, which I postponed to bring you this. But I see you are as determined to be ungrateful as the lot of blundering nitwits out there.”

Hermione glared at him. “You know that's not what I meant! I hate it when you insult me in company, even if you have to keep up appearances! And you promised me never to call me a silly girl again!”

Snape paused, then unstopped the vial. “And you mean to hold me to that promise?”

“Well, you seem to hold me to _my_ promise every other night!” she scoffed, then hacked up a particularly nasty clot of blood and spat it directly onto the floor. Snape's upper lip twitched ever so slightly.

“Very well,” he said. “I apologise. I will never call you a silly girl... in company... again. Now please... Hermione... drink the antidote.”

Hermione, wiping her eyes once more with the wet, bloodstained cloth, took the vial and drank its contents down quickly. She coughed again and handed it back to Snape, who replaced it inside his jacket.

“Give it twenty minutes to take effect,” he said softly, looking down at the blood-covered young woman in front of him. “Then let them inspect you, take their little tests, and send you on your way. When the bleeding has stopped, they have no reason to keep you here.”

Then he left the room, ignoring Harry and Ron as they ran questioning after him.

Hermione sighed and leaned back, waiting for the antidote to stop her body producing blood _en mass_. She knew the Blood-replenishing Potion was strong, but this potent? She might have to write a thesis on it when she got back home.

After, of course, she had painted her bedroom a cool blue. She was never as much as looking at the colour crimson again.


End file.
